


Of Spiders and Other Menaces

by Avia_Isadora



Series: Of Elves and Men [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avia_Isadora/pseuds/Avia_Isadora
Summary: Arwen has never been far from Rivendell.  When her grandfather, Celeborn, takes her to King Thranduil's court, the lessons she takes from it are not the ones he wanted her to learn.
Series: Of Elves and Men [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205072
Kudos: 23





	Of Spiders and Other Menaces

**Author's Note:**

> This goes between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

The road wound through Mirkwood among the great trees, and Arwen Evenstar walked beside her grandsire. There were twenty in their company in all, and they did not make good time, burdened as they were with many things for trade. Even her grandsire wore a pack that was heavier than it looked, his long bow slung to one side of it and a quiver of gray arrows to the other, though he smiled and lifted his head as though this journey were a pleasure to him as it was to her.

Arwen looked at him sideways. "Why did grandmother not come with us?"

At that he threw back his head and laughed, a sound curiously muffled by the lowering trees. "There is not a forest in Middle Earth big enough for your grandmother and Thranduil at the same time!"

Arwen considered that for a moment. A stray sunbeam through the leaves illuminated her green sleeve as it passed. "Is he so difficult then?"

Celeborn's mouth twisted as though he did not say what he thought. "Let me rather say that both of them have big personalities. They like to be the center of the room, the sun in the firmament, and there is only room for one sun."

"And neither will be the moon, the lesser light."

"Just so." 

They walked in silence some little while. The road was not smooth but was at least broad and well marked. A rider would not pass the overhanging boughs without difficulty, but they had no horses though Arwen wore what was at home her riding costume, a long slit tunic of deep green with breeches of the same hue beneath and sturdy boots that left no mark in the loam. Ahead the foregoers walked cautiously, eyes scanning the way.

"So how is it that we are related?" Arwen began again.

"That is somewhat of a long tale," Celeborn said. "And begins with your great-great grandfather Elmo, in the Days of the Trees."

"Elmo?"

"That was his name." Celeborn glanced sideways at her. "Why is that amusing?"

"It's not," Arwen said. "Go on."

"In any event, Elmo was the younger brother of Thingol, and when they set off beneath the stars to seek the shores of the sea, Thingol went astray. Elmo would not desert him, and so for many years he…."

"Wandered about aimlessly?" Arwen asked innocently.

Celeborn laughed again. "Just so. Now among those people who were with him was his sister Oriel, and when at last Thingol established the Realm of Doriath ere the rising of the sun, Oriel came with them. And there she married and had a son named Oropher…."

There was a movement away in the trees, and Arwen stopped as the foregoers suddenly stilled. One raised a hand in warning. The company halted, freezing into silence as only a company of elves can. There were no stray sunbeams here, only darker gloom beneath the trees. A few white threads spread from branch to branch like glittering decorations.

"Spider," the foregoer said quietly.

Her grandfather's bow was in his hands, though she had not seen him move, and Arwen's own hand went to the hilt of the sword at her waist.

"Just one, I think," Celeborn said, his eyes on the trees, reading something in the minute movement of leaves. "It will not attack a company of this size. A scout only. Let us hasten from this place."

They hurried on, not quite at a run, for some length of time, until it was judged that they had gone far enough. The road was more ruinous, but there were no bright threads of webs in the trees, not even far back among the great gloomy giants. Celeborn called a halt, and Arwen took deep breaths. The air seemed close and narrow. He unstopped his water bottle and gave it to her. 

The cool, clean water of Lorien seemed to clear her head. She considered as he took it back and drank. "Have you fought giant spiders before?"

"Many times." He tipped the bottle back, drinking long. "Sometimes they try the borders of Lorien. And there was a positive plague of spiders in Ossiriand when we lived there." He closed the bottle again. "And before that," he said, "when the world was young. Before the rising of the moon when I was a boy we lived in twilight, and there were spiders then of Ungoliant's brood that make these seem gadflies. One killed my sire before I was half grown." 

She had not heard that story before, and Arwen frowned. "Did you take revenge?"

"What use is revenge on a dumb beast?" Celeborn hooked the water bottle back on his pack. "Besides, I have never put much stock in revenge. It may begin in righteousness, but where it leads is only sorrow." He called out to the foregoers. "Let us onward so that we may reach Thranduil's halls before sunset."

"Surely they will not lurk near Thranduil's halls?" Arwen asked as they went on. She could not imagine that it would be so.

"Let us hope," Celeborn said. "But many foul things scattered to the five winds after the cleansing of Dol Guldur, and when the hunting grounds of a beast are disturbed it will oft come too close to the habitations of others in its desperation." He glanced at her as they walked. "A spider is just a beast, Arwen. It has no malice, nor knowledge of right and wrong. It hunts to eat, as we do." There was a long silence before he went on. "Of course we cannot allow it to eat us. But there is nothing personal in its hunting, unless it be animated by some greater will."

"And what can do that?" Arwen asked.

Again he glanced at her as if he doubted that she did not know the answer. "Among other things, your grandmother. She can reach into the mind of beasts as surely as men, and may for some part control them -- a bird to see what she cannot, or to soothe a restless animal that fights the handler. Perhaps this is good, so that an injured horse may be tended without harming itself further. Or perhaps, borrowing the eyes of a bird to see far and wide over the roof of the forest, it is simply neutral -- it does the bird no harm and no good. But such power could be used for great evil, to throw the beasts of the forest against a foe with no regard for their injury or death. She would not use it thus, but she could."

"And her kin did," Arwen said, putting together pieces of old tales.

"Her kin did." Celeborn's mouth was tight, and she thought for a moment that his age showed in it, grandsire older than the age, though his face showed no mark of age, and body was as young and strong as any. "Her kin did many ill things long ago. Do not believe the songs they sing! Long ago in the First Age all was perfect and the Eldar ruled with grace and mercy in a time of joy that will not come again! I was there. It was not." His stride lengthened, and Arwen hurried to keep up though he seemed not to notice. "It was a savage time. Between the menace of the Enemy and the cruelty of elves to one another, we had no peace, not even this watchful peace we have today. Well do I remember the slaying of our kind by one another, yes even children. The slaying of my cousin Nimloth and her two young sons…." He stopped speaking.

Arwen said nothing, only hurried along at his side, though the air was close about them.

"Her daughter came to us," he said at last. "A baby in arms who could not yet speak. Her nurse had hidden her, escaped with her, and brought her to us. Elwing, my cousin's daughter, and I was her closest living kin so thoroughly had the revenge of the sons of Feanor bitten." He shook his head ruefully. "We were young and knew nothing of children."

"And she was my grandmother too," Arwen said. "On the other side."

"Yes." He nodded. "And she was Thranduil's kin too. We were three cousins together -- Nimloth, Oropher, and myself. Nimloth bore Elwing and Oropher sired Thranduil." Celeborn glanced at her again. "It is time you met him."

"I do not know why I have not before," Arwen said.

Celeborn's mouth tightened, and she though again there was something he did not say. "Your father keeps you close in Rivendell."

After what happened to my mother, she thought, but she did not speak it either. That grief cut too near for them both.

"He does," Arwen said. "Too close for my desire."

At that his face lightened, something like amusement returning. "And you desire more of the wide world than the hall and the harp and the bliss of his realm?"

"I do," Arwen said, and lifted her chin.

"Very like another young girl I knew once." There indeed was the twist of amusement at the corner of his mouth. 

"And did she come to grief?" Arwen asked, a bitter pride rising in her as she awaited yet another cautionary tale.

"To grief and great joy," he said. "But I do not think she has done too badly. Your grandmother was defiant and heedless in those days, proud and thoughtless and hungry for the world and everything in it. She had no love of beauty when she was satiated upon it, nor of joy when she had not known sorrow." He looked at her, slowing his steps. "I do not claim to know the mind of Eru, and I have never set foot in the Blessed Realm but I do know this -- we are not born for endless bliss. Were we so, we should not be suited to endure pain. Were we meant for nothing more than dwelling in gardens of endless summer, we should not be suited for hardship and care, for winter. We belong to the world, to this Middle Earth, and I have no desire to leave it. And if we did, should we all go over the sea, we should once again bring strife to Valinor as we did before, because we carry it in our bones."

"We would not take ship to endless bliss?" Arwen stopped in her tracks, so strange was this thought, so contrary to all she had been taught.

He went two paces past and then returned, the company trailing to a halt about them. "Can you imagine those you know living in endless peace? Can you imagine that in a year or a century every old strife would not emerge? Changing where we live does not change our nature, and our nature is to strive." Celeborn gestured to the lowering trees, the impenetrable gloom of Mirkwood. "Better that we strive against giant spiders here where our efforts are to the good, than that we strive against one another when we have naught else to do."

"And the doom of Men?"

"No one knows the doom of Men," he said, and took up the walk again. Arwen hurried to catch up. "Save that it is sundered from ours. But I do not think their fate is worse. Only different. I have loved many of that race over the years."  
"My father speaks little of Men," Arwen said not entirely disingenuously. Her grandsire was far more forthcoming on many points than Elrond.

"He is… sensitive to some words," Celeborn said. "Not the least of which is half-Elven."

"Well do I know that!" Arwen exclaimed. "Nothing annoys him half so much as being called Elrond Half-Elven! Myself, I do not see the stain. No one calls me Quarter-Human!"

Celeborn laughed, but it was not all mirth. "That is because you are a high born Lady of the Noldor," he said. "You are Galadriel's granddaughter, and there is little of that blood left in Middle Earth, the blood of the high elves who claimed the pinnacle of all creation! The blood of the Noldor erases any taint of humanity."

"But I am your granddaughter as well," Arwen said. "A Grey elf, and I am descended from Beren as well as Luthien."

"And well I knew him too," Celeborn said. "When we were in Doriath. I stood in the hall when he asked for Luthien's hand and was told to seek a Silmaril as her bride price. Never was so great a doom laid from pride! But my uncle held his daughter close, and thus the curse of the Silmarils came upon his realm. The Noldor had not the sole claim to overweening pride and cruelty!"

"Cruelty?"

"What else could you call it, to send the man your daughter loves to his death? How highly did he value her happiness?" Celeborn looked at her sideways again. "If I loved you, should I slay that which you loved and say it was to your benefit?"

"No," Arwen said. A thought occurred to her that perhaps she did not persuade her grandsire to take her with him through Mirkwood when her father thought her weaving gossamer in the bowers of Lorien, but perhaps that this was what he had intended all along. Perhaps her grandparents had intended this together when her grandmother had brought her from Rivendell. Certainly her father found it harder to gainsay her grandmother than anyone else. 

She walked in silence some minutes. "Is that why you have brought me with you to see Thranduil? So that I may see the wider world?"

"Thranduil's realm is but a small part of the wider world, but it is a beginning." Celeborn looked ahead to the road. "There are many interesting folk in Thranduil's court, and one may count both dwarves and men among the visitors."

"As one may at my father's house," Arwen said. "But when the dwarves of Oakenshield's company were there I did not see them. Only the Halfling on his return, though he was very sweet. And of Men I see only the widows of the Dunedain who come sorrowing with their ragged children in tow, illustration of the dangers of the world outside our borders. He is close with me since…." She broke off again. Since her mother, ravaged and ill, scarcely recognizing anyone, flinching with screams from Arwen's touch.

Her grandsire did not look at her. She should not have spoken of that, a grief too near for them both. "Well, you may meet many interesting visitors in Thranduil's halls, since he is allied with the Lakemen of Dale, and also an uneasy truce rests with Dain, King Under the Mountain. There is an exchange of ambassadors, though I will not said it is smooth. Also Thranduil has a son."  
At that the hairs rose on the back of Arwen's neck. He spoke the words very casually indeed. "A son? No doubt a paragon of manhood?"

"Indeed," Celeborn said.

"Handsome, witty, dances well?"

"I do not know how he dances," Celeborn said.

"I will not," Arwen said. "And are we not too closely kin in any event?"  
"He has not asked you to dance," Celeborn said. "As he has not yet seen you. Perhaps he won't want to dance with you. Not everyone is impressed with a Lady of the Noldor and seeks only to please her!" The corner of his mouth twitched again. "There are beauties aplenty in Thranduil's halls. I'm sure he's used to such. Besides, you are not so close kin, only in the fourth degree." The twitch became a smile. "Perhaps Legolas will not like you."

"I am sure I will not like him," Arwen said.

"Then what have you to fear besides a tedious evening or two?"

"I do not fear," Arwen said. 

"It is good that you are resolved in this manner," Celeborn said. "For nothing would displease your father more if word got back to him than that you dallied with the son of Thranduil! It is well known that Wood Elves do not keep their daughters closely, and that greater license is allowed in Thranduil's court than in Rivendell. Who knows what you might do or witness, were you to find yourself less than closely watched? And certainly Thranduil has known his share of conquests in his day. His son -- those words could hardly be pleasing to your father!"

"Humph," Arwen said. "I shall not like this Legolas. Not were he handsome as a moonbeam."

"The matter is yours to choose, of course," her grandsire said.

"My lords and ladies, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm!" a guard announced in a loud voice, and threw open the doors into the great hall before them. 

It was not, of course, their true arrival. They had come to the short bridge and outer doors just after sunset, when dusk lay over Mirkwood, and had been brought first to fair guest chambers where they could wash and take some refreshment. Arwen found hers greatly to her liking, though it lacked solid doors where she would have found them in Rivendell. A long curve of natural cave had been divided into chambers for their party, the greatest reserved for her grandfather, Lord Celeborn. Hers was the second, divided from the main room by a hanging tapestry and a short passage of stone that curved downward slightly into a snug oblong room well appointed with bed and carpets alike in shades of gold and red. It was rich and beautiful and more like her rooms in Rivendell than anything in Lorien, though she did see a common thread with their winter houses, if a winter house were made stone and inhabited all year. They had had time to bathe and dress before the feast, and now it lacked a few minutes of midnight.

Arwen walked beside her grandfather into the hall, her riding clothes changed for a gown of midnight blue silk velvet spangled with stars about the neck and hem, its wide collar exposing white skin and a white jewel on a long chain. It contrasted nicely with her grandfather's all white costume, including a long overtunic heavy with white on white embroidery, the work of months and months of tedious labor. The Woodland Realm might exceed Lorien in riches, but not in majesty.

"Dear kinsman!" King Thranduil rose and came down the steps of his throne to give the kiss of greeting, while his assembled people stepped back to make an aisle for theirs to pass through.

"Dear kinsman indeed," her grandfather said, going to him. Arwen could see the resemblance plainly. Her grandfather and Thranduil were of a height, blue eyed, with the same silver-gilt hair worn long about their shoulders, though her grandfather was more heavily built and Thranduil was thin. His face was sharp, cheekbones high and fine, while Celeborn's face was squarer, with something of a pugnacious jaw. He was not in fact a big man, but next to Thranduil he looked positively a bruiser. 

"And this must be Arwen." Thranduil turned to her, his gaze resting upon her, and she was reminded of a kestrel, a small hunting falcon deadly and intent for all its size. "I have heard much of you, kinswoman of far Rivendell. Alas, it has been many years since I ventured over the Misty Mountains, and your father does not come east." He glanced at Celeborn, and his gaze was hooded. "That was when you dwelt in fair Hollin, before a shadow fell on Moria."

"It was indeed," her grandfather said. "Arwen was not born then. But see, we are here now."

"And I am pleased to be your host," Thranduil said. At his gesture a page stepped forth bearing a horn wrought of crystal, and he offered it to them. "Drink and be welcome, guests from Lorien! The King of the Woodland Realm welcomes the Lord of Lorien!"

Arwen's brows twitched, but she took the horn and drank after her grandfather. King and Lord indeed -- Thranduil sought to make it plain who had the upper hand and her grandfather mildly acquiesced. Her grandmother would not, and Arwen understood why she had not come. It was true that Celeborn had rejected the title of king, saying that he was lord only by their sufferance and that Lorien needed no king, but he certainly could have been if he had wanted. Thranduil made that less than plain.

"We shall speak much of the doings of the world, and of course there is commerce to enact to the benefit of all," Thranduil said. "But tonight let us revel together instead, and reaffirm our bonds of friendship." His long cloak of silver-blue swung around him as he remounted the steps to his throne, sitting down with one leg forward in a coat of silver figured velvet, his sleeves slashed with white samite. Oh yes, her people could dress! Arwen smiled. It did make a splendid show when elves gathered.

A group of musicians struck up a tune at a wave from the king's hand. It was less sweet and clear and more complex, with deep horn notes drawn from brass as well as silver flutes, a drum beat beneath all that reminded her of the music of Lorien rather than Rivendell. Kinship, she thought, is a complex thing. Always before she had considered and contrasted the differences as matters of taste rather than peoples. Of course her grandparents and her father did things differently! They were very different. The disparity between their homes and modes of dress were simply that -- matters of taste, just as dress varies from one to another.

But this was more. The people who swirled about her making her acquaintance too quickly for her to remember their names, the men who greeted her grandfather, the women smiled upon her in friendship or jealousy, were not like the people of Rivendell. Their faces were different, and their speech. Their clothes were different, with nothing of the world of men about them, and in that moment Arwen realized what Half-Elven meant. Rivendell was not like this place, nor like Lorien. She lived in a house with chimneys and roofs of slate. Yes, it was built cunningly to conform to the land, and vast vistas opened from each terrace, but it was a house such as men dwelt in. It was not a cave or a tree. There were corners and panels of wood, not curves of stone worn by water and little worked by hand. Rivendell had lamps to give light, not streaming torches or fire imprisoned in little boxes of crystal. And her father would never wear antlers on his head.

The music changed tempo, and some were beginning to dance. Her grandfather was speaking with a wood elf all in emerald with gold pins in her hair, bending close to be heard over the trumpets. He might wear antlers as Thranduil did, the crown of the King of the Wood, if he claimed such a right. Though he would be the stag in winter. The thought came to her clear and complete -- we are closer to beasts than men. We are creatures of the wild wood, and so we were born. We are not meant for houses.

Or am I? All around her swirled beauty, strange and a little savage. Fey. We are fey and dangerous, even those of us who are tame, Arwen thought. We are no safer than the torrents we harness inside our homes. The drums stirred her blood and yet she remained outside their magic, like a mortal looking in rather than one born to the dance.

"You are Arwen?" a young man asked, though of course he knew who she was since she had just been presented.

"Yes." He was tall, with the same fine boned features as Thranduil, the same hair, though there was an open cast to his eyes despite the perfection of his features. "And you must be Legolas," she guessed.

At that he smiled. "I must be." He wore a high collared tunic of pale green velvet, almost silvery in sheen, though there was no figuring or work upon it. "I have been instructed to place myself at your disposal."

"Instructed or ordered?" Arwen asked.

Legolas laughed, and she thought he had a very pleasant face indeed. "Ordered. How quickly you take the measure of us!"

She smiled back. "So you are ordered to pay court to the granddaughter of Celeborn? And there is no other lady to object?"

A cloud passed over his eyes. "None now," he said. "So I may do you courtesy."

Arwen frowned. "I'm sorry. That was unkind of me."

He shrugged. "Of course not. And is there some disapproved suitor that I am supposed to supplant?"

"I have no suitor," Arwen said. Nor wanted one, she nearly said, but bit her tongue before she was acid.

"Then perhaps I should show you our dances and thus please our kin alike," Legolas said.

"Very well," she said, and let him take her hand.

Legolas, Arwen decided, was not so bad. He was at least a good dancer, and he didn't fulsomely go on and on about how beautiful she was. That sort of thing became tiring very quickly, especially when it was overdone to the point of silliness. Legolas wasn't silly, which was a point in his favor. Another point in his favor was that he wasn't all hands. He kept them to himself except in the proper and approved way in the dance, rather than seeking excuses to put them places where they hadn't been invited. The dance, however….

As the evening wore on past midnight, the dancing grew wilder and wilder, fueled by the kegs of sweet red wine that flowed freely. The music got louder and louder, the drums faster and the steps more furious. Figures dissolved into frenzy. Flowers fell to the floor unheeded, slippers were discarded, skirts lifted. Bare feet trampled unlucky petals and pale legs whirled. Bodies pressed together. Jerkins were discarded and overtunics too, dampened shirts clinging to the forms beneath them.

The circle dance began, snaking in toward the middle, the line leader pulling it closer and closer as they turned until she was almost pressed against the girl on the opposite side, white gold hair fallen from its pins, doublet opened almost to the waist, her breasts brushing against Arwen's as they turned. Another twist of the snake, blossoms slippery underfoot, and she was on the outside, trying to catch her breath.

Arwen let go of the hands to both sides and ducked out, making for the doorway and a breathing space. Legolas followed her. The drums sped, the dancers whirled.

"Are you all right?" Legolas asked.

"Just dizzy for a moment," she said. The dancers faces were transported, caught in a fey rapture that she did not feel. The drums beat like a heartbeat and the flutes soared, but her heart did not lift. She was hot and embarrassed. Her blue velvet was too warm, but taking it off would leave only her thin white silk sheath beneath, and was the same as wearing nothing. 

"We could sit down," Legolas said. He'd taken off his green velvet tunic and wore a white shirt beneath, sticking damply to his chest in the heat of the room.

"I wonder where my grandfather is," Arwen said. She didn't see him in the hall anymore. Surely he was supposed to be chaperoning her? Her father would have insisted on it. But perhaps her grandfather thought she was a grown woman who needed no chaperone.

"I think he went toward the spring a while ago," Legolas said. "I could show you the way."

"Thank you," Arwen said. A spring sounded wonderful. Cool, clear air was just what she needed.

Legolas led her out of the hall through the soaring corridors. It was cooler away from the dancing. Lamps lit a spacious spiral staircase going down, lit the hall below with its glittering calcite formations. "The springs are on the lower levels," Legolas said. "We use them for washing and water and for heat too. Some of them are hot springs, so we can keep most of the chambers warm in winter. And we always have hot water." He smiled at her, waiting for her to precede him through a door covered by a hanging tapestry.

The chamber beyond was full of steam. A wide basin was filled with hot water that welled up and spilled over the side to fall into a pool carved out of the rock. It was broad enough and deep enough to hold eight or ten people, and the six who occupied it left plenty of room. One was her grandfather. He wore no shirt at all, and his hair was slicked back wet like a seal's, water glistening on his shoulders and chest as he sat in the water. A red-haired wood elf sat very close, apparently hanging on his every word, a broad silver cup in her hands from which they both drank. Celeborn leaned back against Thranduil's arm, the King of the Woodland Realm also apparently unclothed except for a floral wreath that hung at a tipsy angle on his brow. His arm was around her grandfather, his smile feral and sharp. Piles of jumbled clothes lay on the benches about the chamber.

Legolas didn't say a word, even when Arwen halted suddenly and he ran into her. "I…." 

Her grandfather laughed, throwing his head back. He looked relaxed, dangerous, for a moment entirely strange rather than someone she had known her whole life. If he had worn a forest crown of antlers it would have been no more disturbing and no more real.

Thranduil smiled, a dagger's smile, and yet languid with pleasure.

Arwen pushed past Legolas, back out into the corridor. 

"Is everything all right?" Legolas followed her, of course.

"Yes. Certainly. I just maybe don’t need to talk to my grandfather right now." Arwen was facing a blank wall, her back to him. 

"You don't have to bathe if you don't want to," Legolas said. "But it's very nice in winter. Not so much now, when it's warm, but in winter it's especially nice."

Arwen swallowed. "Do you? I mean like that?" She turned to face him.

"Unclothed?" He looked perplexed. "Yes? I mean, who wears clothes to take a bath? Do you bathe in your clothes in Rivendell?"  
"No! But…." Arwen swallowed again. "We don't bathe all together."

Legolas looked at her doubtfully, as though she'd just told him that everyone ate in solitude because of some odd custom. "Oh," he said.

"I've never…. Do you see your father naked all the time?"

Legolas' expression of disbelief grew. "Of course. He's my father," he said, as though that explained everything. "Haven't you?"

"I have never seen my father naked in my life!" Arwen said. Even trying to imagine Lord Elrond parading around in nothing at all was beyond bizarre. "And he's certainly never seen me naked, not since I was a baby!"

"Oh." Legolas looked confused, as though she told him that she had a strange vow never to mention feet, and that he was gamely trying not to pass judgment. "Well, we could go back to the hall."

She could go back to her room, but surely her grandfather would come in soon and he'd go right past her door with only the tapestry. And what if he wasn't alone? What would she do or say? But the hall was filled with the dancing. "I'd like some air," Arwen said. "Is there a garden? Or a balcony? Could we go outside?"

"If you'd like." Legolas nodded. "We could go into the orchard. It's outside the walls but it's pretty there. Like a garden, kind of. Like what the Lakemen mean by a garden, which is maybe what you mean."

"That sounds perfect." They had orchards in Rivendell. Orchards were very nice places.

King Thranduil's was little different, despite being outside the walls of the palace, which was doubtless necessary as fruit trees don't grow underground. There were galleries of apple trees stretching in neat rows toward the forest canopy bordered by rows of cherry trees, their crowns already spread with nets to keep the birds away from the ripening fruit. At the far end a hedge of rowan bushes taller than a man's height marked the edge of the forest, a silver gate set in it on white lintels. It gleamed in the moonlight. The trunks of the apple trees were like pillars in a hall roofed in green, branches bending low with the first round green fruits no longer than her thumb, the rich scent of apples filling the night. 

Legolas had picked up his bow and quiver at the door and slung them on quietly. He walked beside her, his feet making no indentation in the lush grass. "We have eight kinds of apples here," he said. "Some of them are self-pollenating and some require others. We have early apples and mid-season and late apples, ones for cooking right away or putting by and keepers that will last until next spring. We also have three kinds of cherries. The early sour ones will be ripe in a week or so, and then the red sweet ones with the next moon. The last ones are the late ones, the small bloodcherries which will ripen in the autumn."

Arwen looked at him, bemused. "Do you like gardening?"

"Not really." Legolas grinned. "But a king is supposed to understand how everything works in his realm, and I'm my father's deputy."

"I like gardens," Arwen said. "My father says I can coax any tree to grow, no matter how dead it seems."

"That's a gift," Legolas said. He looked at her, his head to the side. "That's the first time I've seen you smile all night. Didn't you want to come?"  
"I did," Arwen said. "I asked to come."

"Is it that you don't want to be pushed into courting me? Because I completely understand how off-putting that could be." Legolas stopped under the trees. "Let me promise you that I have no designs on you, or any intention of marrying you."

At that she couldn't help but smile again. "It's not that you aren't an estimable person, or that I don't like you, but I'm tired of all my relatives trying to pair me with someone. Really, I can find my own husband in my own time!"  
"I'm sure you can," he said. "And I….I'm just not ready yet." He looked away, out toward the forest beyond the hedge.  
"I'm sorry," she said, feeling the sorrow that went through him like a knife, someone lost to him forever.

Legolas shrugged, looking back at her with a somewhat forced smile. "Well, now that we have that out of the way -- that you're not going to marry me and I'm not going to marry you -- we can get along."

"We can," she said, returning his smile more genuinely. "And I am glad to be here! I've always wanted to travel and to see the world, and this is the first time I've been far."

"I like to travel too," Legolas said. "I've been to the Sea of Rhun, to Dorwinnion, and the Iron Hills and Erebor. And Esgaroth and now Dale of course. I go there all the time. Since the dragon was killed, my father has extensive relations with Laketown. We gave them aid when Smaug burned everything and were allies after, so everybody there owes us money!" Legolas laughed. "Actually, it's more like they like us very much and we like them, and we need each other as trading partners, especially right now. But we're even on friendly terms with the dwarves of Erebor at the moment." He shrugged. "How long that will last is a good question. King Dain bought my father off and he's been pretty decent, so maybe it will."

"I've never been to a city of men, much less dwarves."

"It's more of a town than a city," Legolas said. "But I like it. I like the people of Laketown. I'm always happy to go there."

"Do you think I could go with you?" Arwen asked.

"To Laketown?"

"And Erebor," she added. "Why not?"

"If your grandfather agreed," Legolas said. "I don't see why not."

There was a sound behind her. Arwen half turned to look, and then Legolas suddenly shoved her flat, falling hard on the loam. Arwen screamed.

A massive shape bowled over her, huge and lean and hairy, eight legs scurrying. One of them hit her hard in the ribs as it passed.

Legolas' bow sang, the arrow white in the darkness.

Arwen scrambled to her feet. 

A spider reared in front of her, mandibles clacking, long stinger extended.

An arrow hit it full in the body just in front of her, burying itself to the fletchings, black blood spurting. It fell backwards, all legs shaking and curling.

There was a horrible rush of legs, however many more spiders dashing for the hedge and the forest beyond while Legolas stood like a statue, reach, draw, release, reach, draw, release. The spiders scrambled up the hedge and disappeared, the last one lurching with two arrows in it. One more spider lay on the grass of the orchard, its limbs shaking feebly.

Legolas took a deep breath, the bow in his left hand as he reached down for her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Arwen gasped. "I think so."

"They shouldn't be in the orchard, not even at night," Legolas said. "They've multiplied again. We've got to go after them soon. This is too much." He looked down at her somewhat muddy dress. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I was trying to get you out of its way."

"It's all right," Arwen said. At worst it would look like they'd been grappling in the orchard. At best it looked like…giant spiders. Giant spiders.

"They're one of the hazards of living here," Legolas said. 

"I see that," Arwen replied.

The guards at the wall let them back in with a wink and a nudge, looking pointedly at Arwen's muddy dress and tumbled hair.

"We were attacked by spiders in the orchard," Legolas said sharply. "Have a care! Don't let anyone out who looks the worse for drink. It will do no harm for everyone to stay safe within doors tonight." 

At that the guards straightened and left off their knowing looks. Arwen settled her hair with as much grace as possible. "Tell me," she said to the nearest guard. "Have you seen Lord Celeborn?"

"He is closeted with King Thranduil, my lady."

"Well, I am sure they have important matters to discuss," Arwen said firmly. Legolas' eyes widened but he said nothing. "Prince Legolas, I appreciate your escort, and your skill with a bow surely prevented me from injury. I believe I shall retire now."

"Good night then," Legolas said. "And perhaps I will see you on the morrow."

"I hope so," she said politely and rushed for her room as quickly as possible.

Elves do not sleep as often or as long as humans do, so it was to her surprise that she fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow. If she dreamed, she did not remember, but some hours had passed before she awoke to a tentative step, a hand pulling back the hanging before her door. Arwen opened her eyes.

Her grandfather there, pushing back the tapestry and coming in when she sat up. He wore his usual gray, looking uncommonly sleek and clean and scrubbed. "I wasn't sure if you were awake yet."

"I am," Arwen said, sitting up. Her bedrobe was heavy satin, and the bed was mounded with covers. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

"Did you have a pleasant evening with Legolas?" he asked.

"If you can call being attacked by giant spiders pleasant," she said. "We went out into the grounds and five or six of them attacked us."

Celeborn took in a sharp breath, worry transforming his face.

"But Legolas is an excellent shot, so we are unharmed. He killed at least one and drove off the rest. It was very interesting."

Her grandfather swallowed hard. "I thought you were safe enough. What in the…."

"I was perfectly safe," Arwen said, smoothing the comforter down. "As I said, Prince Legolas is an excellent shot. I found it a very informative adventure."

"My dear…"

She gave him a brilliant smile, somewhat perversely pleased by his sudden concern. "He was a very adequate protector." 

"Well. I'm glad it went well." Her grandfather's voice sounded somewhat choked. "And how was the dancing?"

"Fine. And how was your evening?" she asked. 

"Very pleasant," he said.

Arwen found it hard to look at his face suddenly. "If there…. If there are things that I ought not know…. I don't want to lie to grandmother."

He lifted her chin with one finger so that their eyes met. "My dear Arwen, I have no secrets from your grandmother. Remember, she can read minds! There is nothing in the world I would have you conceal from her, and I have nothing to conceal."

Which meant that all of this naked bathing and whatever would meet with her grandmother's approval? Arwen swallowed hard.

"And you? How did you like Thranduil's son?"

"Legolas is very nice," she said. "I like him. And I'm sure he's very handsome."

"But?"

She looked down at her hands on the blanket, pale and cool against the scarlet and gold cloth. "He's too perfect, if you know what I mean. Everything about him is exactly as it ought to be. There are no blots, no scars. He's perfectly perfect." It was hard to find the words for it, this disquiet that had seized her at the dance, that hung over her still. "It's like the music. It's beautiful and it's lovely and I look at other people and they're transported, and I feel nothing." She looked up at him, at her grandfather two thousand years old with his smooth unlined face and even features. "I feel nothing. Do you understand? It must be powerful and wonderful and I see how it touches other people and whatever it is I'm supposed to feel, I don't feel it. I just feel awkward and like I don't belong."

He sat absolutely still, still as a hunter in a blind.

She looked around the room, tears coming unexpectedly to her eyes. "It's like everything doesn’t quite fit. I do the things I'm supposed to do and I say the things I'm supposed to say, and nothing moves me. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels like home."

"It's very different from Rivendell," Celeborn said quietly.

"It happens in Rivendell too," Arwen said. "Not as much, but…. I play the harp and it's lovely but there is no spirit in it."

"My dear, you have no spirit," Celeborn said. "You're an elf. We are the Firstborn. We belong to the earth, and we do not leave it even in death."

"I know but…." She took a deep breath, looking for the words, finding them somehow in his stillness. "I think, in Lorien and here only among elves -- I think -- I think I understand what half-elven means." Her words fell like stones into a clear pond, like ripples spreading. "I think I know what that means now."

"And what does it mean?" he asked gently.

"It means I can't be an elf right."

"There's not one right way to be an elf," Celeborn said. "We are all different. Your father and your grandmother and Thranduil and me. We're all different. These caverns aren't the only way to live. Your grandmother's not fond of this herself."

"Yes, but grandmother likes living in a tree," Arwen said.

He opened his mouth and shut it again. "And you like?"  
"I suppose I like Rivendell," she said slowly. Of course she didn't mean to disparage the way her grandparents lived. They were so kind, and she loved them. She'd never want to hurt his feelings. But it couldn't hurt his feelings to say she liked her own home. 

"Rivendell."

"I like walls," Arwen said. "Doors. Fireplaces. Bathrooms and libraries. I like books. And towers and gardens and the farms by the riverbed where we keep our horses and the haying meadows." She stopped. "Not that trees aren't lovely. And not that I don't appreciate you bringing me here. Or that I don't love going fishing with you in Lorien. I do. I love you and grandmother."

"You like horses." His face was kind. "We can't keep horses in Lorien, you know. We have no meadows."

"I know," she said. "And I want to see the world. I don't want to sit in Rivendell. I want to meet new people."

"Like that peerless boy Legolas who thinks taking a girl to be attacked by spiders is courtship…." He shook his head.

"He was very impressive," Arwen said loyally. After all, it was no fault of Legolas' that they were in the orchard. And the things she said were so far from right that it was time to talk of something else. "He said he'd take me to Erebor if you consented."

"Absolutely not!" Celeborn exclaimed.

"Why not? Aren't we at peace with Erebor?"  
"Yes, for the moment. But it's much too dangerous. You are not going to Erebor with the son of Thranduil."

"He's perfectly capable of defending me," Arwen argued.

"You are not going to Erebor. Your father would have my head."

Having played the long card, now it was time for the short one. "Well, why not Laketown then? It's a day's journey by boat. King Thanduil's people do it all the time."

"You're not going to Laketown."

"We could go and return in three days," Arwen said. "I've always wanted to see a city of men."

"It's a village."

"A village of men. What in the world could possibly befall me in a village belonging to King Thranduil's allies a day away from his halls?"

"You managed to find giant spiders the moment you went into the orchard," Celeborn pointed out. "And besides, there's nothing to see there."

"There are paper kites."

Celeborn put his head to the side. 

"They build paper kites. Legolas told me about them. Like fantastic, multicolored birds! And they have flowers that grow on the sides of buildings and they have a market full of stalls and things from everywhere, things made by dwarves and things from the East that come by the Long Road and even things from Gondor brought by peddlers. And there are fairs and animals to trade and big gray cows that are completely different from the ones in Rivendell and they have wattles on their throats like roosters and they came from the East when the Wainriders came. And they invented a thing for moving barrels onto boats, a windlass Legolas calls it…."

Celeborn's face had changed, a queer closed expression coming over it, as though some ineffable sadness fell behind his eyes.

"What is it?" she asked. "What did I say wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"Is it wrong that I want to see Laketown?"

"Of course it's not wrong." Celeborn took a deep breath. "Very well. I will come with you and the boy to Laketown. It should be perfectly safe."

Arwen frowned. "Then why are you looking at me as though you see my fate in my eyes?"

He glanced away. "You have been kept away from the cities of men too long. We will go to Laketown and you can see your paper kites and your gardens. We have plenty of time."

Arwen put her arms around him, squeezing him in delight. "Don't we always have plenty of time?"

"Of course," her grandsire said, and if his voice caught she knew no reason for it. "We have all the time in the world." 


End file.
